


Fourth of July

by verbisdiablo (stripedteacups)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stripedteacups/pseuds/verbisdiablo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An old, tiny tumblr drabble I wanted to save for posterity.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Fourth of July

**Author's Note:**

> An old, tiny tumblr drabble I wanted to save for posterity.

A shout-out to Steve Rogers, who lives with a constant dull ache in his chest, in a heart that still beats against all odds. An old heart that lurches remembering summers in Brooklyn with charcoal under his nails and Glenn Miller on the radio and sunshine and girls walking past him and the warm smell of apple pie from someone’s window. And _him_ , boyish smile and terrible charm, always within his reach, his presence a gentle breeze over feverish skin. Sometimes his memories feel like sepia and smell like mud and gunpowder, but then he remembers all the red around him: in the shape of a skull; in dark puddles around wounds; on his hands and on his nose; a metallic taste on his mouth that still chokes him. But there’s also red shining on his shield, proud and bright; and red that steals his breath when it’s on Peggy’s lips and on her dress.

He will walk along noisy streets on a holiday under easy camouflage, still raw and unsure of his heroism, a thousand strategies for a single plan torturing him. Beside him, children will play and families will laugh in their garden barbecues, ignoring that the man with the hands in his pockets and the blue cap fought tears when he found a homeless veteran two blocks away asking for money. When the fireworks light up the skies with red, white and blue, they’ll never know what sacrifice means for a soldier who never stops being in the front line.

He will cross the street and taste foul water and the inevitability of death in the back of his throat, knowing that he gave up because he couldn't live with a broken heart. He'll swallow hard, remembering the short, desperate breaths, the sludge beneath his body and not knowing if he would wake up in his bed, fighting an asthma attack in 1941. He would be there, soothing him, a calm despair in his voice. "Stevie, shhh, it's okay, Stevie," he would say, hands warm on his cheeks. No cold steel in his stare or his fingers.

He will close his eyes, haunted by every sickening detail on the Winter Soldier's file, fighting back bile and rage and failing on both counts. There'll be broken concrete and trash around him in the alley, and bloody knuckles that he'll hide inside his jacket. His strides will be long but his head will be low, a stream of nightmares in the back of his mind. He will long and ache, afraid to find a ghost inhabiting the body of his best friend, but even more scared of not finding him at all.

He will approach the small, unassuming Chinese restaurant and check the perimeter before entering. He will feel at ease under dimmed lights and discolored paper lamps as he walks towards the back table, where Sam Wilson is charming the waitress. He'll fight a smile and then realize he doesn't have to, even when the world is falling apart around him.

A shout-out to Steve Rogers, who will drink beers that won’t take the edge off and laugh at Sam’s jokes tonight, blowing a single candle on a ridiculous cupcake full of flags and stars. He will make a single wish and his heart will beat with hope again, because he won't fail. Because the killer's hand saved his life.

Because he knew him. 

Because under the cold eyes and wretched body, Bucky is waiting.


End file.
